Warmish
by brightmoor
Summary: Set during Pagan's Crusade, book two of the Pagan Chronicles by the amazing Catherine Jinks. // Jordan wishes to speak with Pagan. Jordan/Pagan. Oooh, wonder what'll happen.


It's dark in here. Really dark. As soon as I close the door, I can't even see my hand in front of my face.

Fumbling with my boots and the buttons on my shirt. I'm so exhausted. Horses must be proof that Satan has power in this world—maybe Esclaramonde's right after all.

I think I'm going to borrow Roland's bed for the night. My paillasse is still damp. It smells like piss and wet dog. Whoof, what a stink! Maybe kicking it was a bad idea.

He probably won't even come in until later. It's what, nine, ten at night? And I can always explain why I'm not in my own bed. I'm really too tired right now to care.

Mmm, warm blankets. Scratchy, but warm. Snuggling down into them...

And someone opens the door. Damn it. I didn't think he'd be back until around four.

"My lord? My bed still smells like piss."

"And?" he asks. Sighing. Sounds like he's in a bad mood. No, like he's got a cold.

"Well, nothing, I guess. I didn't think you'd be back until later, my lord, so I'm borrowing yours."

He laughs. "Have another guess, Pagan?"

Oh, okay. It's Jordan, not Roland. That explains why he sounded strange. But what does he want? If it's about the other day, I know a place where he can shove his conversation, because I'm not going to leave Roland among this den of vipers. Oh, no.

"Why are you here, my lord?" He's still standing in the doorway—is he going to come in, or not? Hell, why is he even here in the first place? "Look, if this is about the other day..."

"No, Pagan." Softly. Gently, even. "I've given up believing you'd ever leave Roland."

And? There's more; I know there's more.

"But I still want to talk to you, Pagan. At least let me do that."

Oh, you snake. Leave me alone. Can't you see I'm exhausted? And he's probably drunk, too.

"Can't it wait, my lord? Until tomorrow?"

"Tired, Pagan?" he asks. Coming into the room. The door closes with a thud, and it's dark again.

Really dark.

And he's sitting on the bed.

Damn, damn, damn.

"Uh, my lord—"

"What's the matter? Afraid of the dark?"

Scooting away from him. Don't underestimate me, my lord, I saw enough of this at St. Joseph's to know what's going on.

"Afraid of the people in the dark." Quietly.

"Hmm."

God, the awkwardness is almost tangible: me, sitting as far from him as I possibly can, and him just... sitting there. I wish he'd tell me why he's here, or go away, or just do anything other than sitting there. Is he drunk? He doesn't smell like wine.

Interesting.

"Um, my lord? What did you want to talk about, anyway?" Just let me go back to sleep, damn you.

"Nothing in particular."

Hell in a handcart. It's like talking to a wall. Sighing. I'll just ask him to go away, then I can sleep. Sweet, sweet sleep. Seems like it's been forever since I've slept. I've been on a God damned horse all day.

Anyway. The matter at hand.

"My lord, I've had a long day, so if you could—"

"Pagan?"

What _now? _"Yes, my lord?"

"I'd like to stay in here tonight."

...Excuse me? Look, you stinking sewer rat, if you think—

"I promise I won't do anything—Pagan, look at me when I'm speaking. I just... I want to be near you."

Jesus Christ in Heaven. How am I supposed to respond to that?

"I want to be near you," he repeats. "You are so...different from the usual company around here. You are so bright and sharp and witty that I... I can't help it, Pagan."

Christ. "We went through this the other day, my lord." Christ, Christ. Doesn't he get it? He even said it himself. There's no way I'd leave Roland for him. For anyone.

"I know, Pagan, I know. I'm asking you this as a friend. Please let me be near you."

He looks so absolutely pathetic, sitting here in the dark, confessing to me. (Well, it doesn't seem that dark anymore. But whatever.)

I know I can't let him stay here. God, Roland would—Roland would kill him. He'd kill him and chop him into tiny pieces and feed him to the dogs.

God. A little help here? (Someone? Anyone?) What do I do? I don't want anyone to get hurt. Myself included.

"My lord?"

I know what I have to do.

He looks up and over at me. He's still sitting on the edge of Roland's bed.

Shivering involuntarily.

God, how pathetic.

"Just—just tonight, it should be fine. As long as Roland doesn't know."

"Oh, Pagan. Pagan, Pagan. Thank you."

Unexpectedly, a hug. He smells like mulled wine and leather. Different than Roland— metal polish and mint. Or maybe it's not mint. I don't know.

Well, this is definitely awkward. But he's big and warm and gentle. He's murmuring my name again and again, holding me protectively to his chest. Warm.

God. Realizing what I've just done. Of course Roland will know. Damn this lack of sleep. This exhaustion. Damn it.

But have I done the right thing? What will Roland say? What will he do?

I should think, but I'm so tired. Exhausted.

Warm.

Sleeping...

Goodnight, my lord...


End file.
